Poetry

Danielle Pieratti – Rubric for Burying a Hen


“Your instinct for concern
is developing, but backwards. 
Either farmwork or parenthood 
has diminished your animal empathy, 
though some maternal haunting 
may nudge your score 
into the proficient range.”

– Danielle Pieratti


 

From a new collection of poems by Danielle Pieratti, Rubric for Burying a Hen is a heartbreaking account of what it is to fail to sustain someone or something in our care. Within the poem, there are threads of both self-castigation and a softer, more compassionate tone towards the narrator and her own humanity. In telling me about this poem, Danielle said, “Motherhood has heightened my sensitivity to loss in profound, sometimes disabling ways. I feel implicated in daily losses both big and small, and this poem attempts to grapple with that responsibility.” Rubric for Burying a Hen was first published by Dialogist.


Rubric For Burying A Hen

I.

Your instinct for concern
is developing, but backwards. 
Either farmwork or parenthood 
has diminished your animal empathy, 
though some maternal haunting 
may nudge your score 
into the proficient range.

Noting lethargy, diarrhea, her growing 
tolerance for handling, you fail 
to act quickly/need improvement.

Later, you try to forget/make 
a joke of/intend to omit how 
your daughter may have clocked her 
on the head with the roost ramp. 

II.

Your disturbance reflex
is proficient. You startle 
when only two hens drop 
from the hatch by mid-morning. 
Then, opening the roost, you note 
the head like a carved swan’s, recoil 
at the thought of her 
choosing this corner to die alone. 

Additionally, you may leave 
the body undisturbed, 
not knowing why you raise 
the ramp so the others 
won’t discern her. 

III.

Your appetite for grief
barely approaches standard. 
When little pressed 
you offer flatly to the children
that she died. 

You may wait until after noon 
to retrieve the body, noting tenderly 
the still-supple neck (not bearing 
to touch the belly 
with its toxic egg) then bag 
and hang it from a nail in the garage. 

IV.

Your observance of ritual
earns three half-stars. 
To yourself and the fox
you deny the grace of offering.

Though predictably, 
your aesthetic demonstrates 
an expert’s preference for rehearsed 
distraction. You may first 
walk gingerly to the creek, 
leaning on your shovel, looking 
half-heartedly for the tree 
carved this year with the names 
of your two cats. 

After the funeral, perhaps you sit 
for minutes on a bench you made 
by hand, so convinced are you 
of your belonging. 


Danielle Pieratti
From: Approximate Body, published by Carnegie Mellon University Press, Pittsburgh 2023. Copyright by Danielle Pieratti.


Leave a Reply